Nothing screams Christmas like a metal Minion. Handcrafted, and yours for just 750 Euros.

Brrrrr. Whose idea was this? Christmas markets sound lovely in theory, don’t they? Then you get there and there are loads and loads of people, browsing stalls that are – unhappily – selling loads and loads of tat.

Then there are the stalls that are selling artisanal items, handcrafted and carefully painted, they’ve clearly had a lot of effort put into them. You’d hope so anyway, after you look at the price tag. 250 Euros for a Flamingo made out of copper and bamboo? Are you having a laugh?

I also love the fact that – no matter what the theme of the market, or for whatever reason it’s being held – you will always, always find a hook-a-duck stall doing a roaring trade. These things are essentially pound shops with hook-a-ducks stuck on the front of them. And they will always have at least one toy that your child will want, that they can’t have for some reason.

‘So the plastic sword and shield are ok?’. Oui, they will nod at you.

‘And the plastic Slinky is ok?’. Oui, they will nod at you.

‘But not the radio controlled drone with 2.4 megapixel camera?’. Non, they will say to you.

Honestly, hook-a-duck stalls and those carousel* rides are just another form of tax for parents.

I sound like a Christmas-market Grinch don’t I? I do like them, really, but not when they are so busy and sooooooo cold.

You’d think I’d know better, time of year and all. Maybe I should start a campaign to hold Christmas markets in June, and then limit the amount of attendees to something reasonable. Like ten people. That’s me, the missus, the kids and 6 stall holders.

And nobody is allowed to sell goods in excess of 30 Euros.

And no smelly cheeses.

And no stalls selling tat.

And no tiny dogs that I keep nearly stepping on.

Bah humbug.

Anyway, enough moaning. We went to one near us in Baugy recently, a quaint little village tucked away in central France. It had the usual stuff. Here are some photographs for you to have a look at.

Oh, and in case I haven’t impressed it upon you enough – IT WAS BLOODY COLD.

And that’s coming from a Yorkshire man.

Enjoy!

42% of this shot is pavement – I had it measured by Yourphotographyskillssuck.fr

Bit more like it, nice Christmas tree – note women who has 5% of face visible, did I mention it was cold?

Here we have a depiction of the lesser-known Santa, Freak Santa, so called because he has no arms, and he’s been in the game that long that his sack has fused to his body. Poor Freak Santa.

Another fabulous shot of mostly-pavement.

Note the juxtaposition of the foreground star and background tree, such a union of Christmas imagery that one’s soul could weep. Actually no, it was the cold making my eyes water.

I had tried to trick my kids into entering this, allowing me to then leave them safely trapped within it. But they are wise to my ways, and now carry wire-cutters and stihl saws with them at all times, so that they can break out of whatever I try and lock them inside of.

Every single person in this shot is thinking the same thing: ‘It’s bloody cold, I don’t want a 5 foot metal butterfly for my garden, can we go home now?’.

Take one shed. Add Christmas lights. Hey Presto! One Christmas-themed shed! This one sold Monster energy drinks in case you are wondering.

All I want for Christmas is a pair of scissors and five minutes alone with Giant-Inflatable-Santa.

Now this was more like it! She had heat, she had sausages…but no brown sauce 😦

Look who’s eyeballing me – it looks like Mark Lamarr! Could be too, I’ve not seen him in years.

These Santas seem to have gotten quite commercial. This was the third we’d seen at various markets, and they all had professional photographers with them. We didn’t hang around to see what they were charging.

52% pavement

That poor man with no hair and no hat. Can you get a frostbite of the head?

This has to be the worst picture of the lot. Why have I even put this in here?

‘Mummy mummy, buy us some rubbish that we will later lose interest in and/or break. Buy it for us, or we will make your life hell for the next 30-90 minutes’.

I hope you enjoyed my photographical-feast**, full of positivism and love for all the things that make a Christmas market in France what it is.

Next time I will wear gloves.

And stay at home.

Have a lovely Christmas everyone xxx

*You know the ones I’m talking about, loads of cars and helicopters and crocodiles with badly painted Disney characters on them going round in a circle. They always dangles some weird-looking thing down so your kid can grab it and have another go for ‘free’. I say for free like that – in inverted commas – because they generally target parents with more than one kid on the ride. This is because they know that the other kid(s) will immediately kick off and so they will be forced to pay for another go round for the other child as well. Win-win for the carousel-owner.

In case you are wondering, while they don’t say anything, I get the feeling that the staff at Intermarche ( a French chain of supermarkets) frown about this misuse of mini trolleys.

Plus points? It allows your kids to comfortably play the motion-control game that your son insists on playing (‘just for five minutes daddy’) every time you go in there. Your daughter can also sit beside him as though she’s at the cinema, and ensure that she is in ‘striking distance’ for when it inevitably kicks off.

Negative points? You try pushing two of these while carrying a pack of beer, a pizza, a loaf of bread and some milk (yes, ‘les essentials’) it’s not easy and balancing them on the kids just looks wrong.

They do make an excellent battering ram though, if you encounter any ‘dawdlers’ in the chilled meats section.

The photograph was taken in the back garden** of her French granddad, or ‘papy’ as they are called in France.

She’s such a perfect specimen and yet, as I type this, she’s sat on the toilet, giving us a blow-by-blow account of what she’s doing. I won’t fill in the blanks too much, but I would really rather not have a ‘director’s commentary’ if I’m being honest.

I could also do without all the grunts.

They can be perfect.

They can be perfectly vile.

Here she just looks perfect.

Clothes from the French market.

Looks from Mummy.

Brains from Mummy.

Stick from Daddy.

*It’s early days, I’m sure we will take many more photographs, but so far this is my favourite.

**I use the term ‘back garden’ in its loosest possible sense – ‘vast field’ would be more appropriate. They have land to spare in this glorious country.

The cemetery above Saint-Floret can be accessed via a relatively challenging, 15 minute walk/hike. This route, while the quickest, is not recommended for those that struggle with inclines, or families with small children. It could also be viewed as somewhat dangerous to attempt it during inclement weather. Happily there is a longer, safer route up to the graveyard or, if walking is not your thing, then it can be accessed via car, with a car park at its base.

As you will see from the following photographs your ascent, whichever way you decide to undertake it, is rewarded with some stunning views…

Nestled in the heart of Auvergne, in the Puy-de-Dome Department, is Saint-Floret, a small village of less than 300 inhabitants. Settling on this as our ‘base of operations’ for our holiday, we stayed at a lovely little three story refurbished maison. We knew we had made a great choice when we arrived and found our accommodation was situated right next to the river, meaning we would be able to fall asleep each night with the soothing sounds of the water lulling us into the land of nod.

Local amenities were scarce – there were just a couple of restaurants, which served decent grub at reasonable rates, and no supermarkets to speak of – however we were pleasantly surprised to discover the village came equipped with its own 24/7 bread-vending machine – something of a novelty to us Brits and meant that each morning could be started with a lovely, fresh baked repast.

There is a small playground within the village – no swings though! – so for families with small children you are guaranteed to have somewhere to go when you brood needs too unwind. Be advised though that the roads are quite narrow and traffic can sometimes go through at above the recommended speeds, so if you are coming with children then please be aware of this.

Sights within the village were outstanding, with the small windy alleys leading to treasures for the eyes, while venturing further afield led to even greater discoveries. Above the village lies the cemetery, with stunning views of the Saint-Floret and the surrounding area. A short walk – or drive if you have children – to the north of the village leads you to the ‘Tete de Lion’ an impressive, naturally formed rocky outcropping that is accessible via a not-too-challenging 1.3km circuit – this distance will allow you to see the Lion’s head and get you back to your starting point.

The aptly named ‘Tete de Lion’

All in all a great place to stay, possibly lacking in much in the way of excitement for the older children, however if you are a walker, a person with an interest in history, or simply someone who admires beautiful views then this is heartily recommended.

So we come, at last, to the final day of the festival celebrating the Auld Alliance. As you read this the people who came to entertain and enthral the crowds will be packing up their kilts, deflating their bagpipes and making sure there’s enough fuel in their cars to make the long journey back to Scotland.

Except for the people who actually live here that is – they’ll just walk 100 yards to their house.

The festival co-coordinators have been lucky in their timing – the weather has been glorious throughout – which has brought the crowds and, crucially, made the crowds thirsty. My plan for next year’s festival is simple – buy lots and lots and lots of alcohol and fizzy pop and then sell it. Then the following year I will be blogging from my yacht.

If only.

Anyway, enough waffle from me, have a gander at the last lot of photographs…

No idea what the sales tactic was here? Perhaps trying to target that Planet Of The Apes/Scottish Highland Fan demographic?

Took me right back to Braveheart…’Hold!!!!’

There was seldom anyone actually monitoring this stuff, so if someone wanted to flip out – say someone who had two kids and was stressed out on a hot sunny day – then this would be the perfect/worst opportunity to do so.

These guys were trying to get volunteers to take part in the ancient game of ‘Embarrass yourself in front of your friends by getting them to try to throw a heavy weight over a giant limbo pole, fail miserably and then have to watch you do it expertly while your girlfriend looks on and sighs to herself’

It seems ‘almost’ feasible when you look at it…

Having said that even the sol called ‘experts’ messed up a few times.

Having to lower the pole…never a good sign. Still at least you aren’t doing it in front of crowds of people….

Pah! He can nearly touch it with his hand now! Amateurs* (*I still didn’t try)

Load of Knight Templar chilling out. I don’t know what the plural for a load of Knights Templar is and I’m not googling it either.

Look at the size of those two dogs! We were told they used to hunt bears, wolves and….

ENGLISH MEN!!!! RUN AWAY THEY’VE CAUGHT MY SCENT!!!

This looks so authentic, but she was reaching down for her iPhone.

First mismatched wresting match – the guy on the right weighed half what the guy on the left did.

Now this was clearly only ever going to end one way…

Or was it….? (he did actually let the little fellow win)

This is a bit more like it…

Yep, this one was a very evenly matched….match.

This was one of many wrestling matches between the professional Highland Wrestling Team and a group of boy (and girl) scouts who were in the area. No prizes for guessing the outcome here….

So, as Porky Pig used to say ‘the the the that’s all folks’ I hope you’ve enjoyed looking at the photographs I’ve taken during the festival. I’ve no doubt that this time next year, when the streets of my village ring out with sounds of bagpipes, I’ll be back to cover it again. Have a good one y’hear ken?